


First Impressions

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Dean Flirts, Elizabeth Approves, Ex Navy Benny, Happy Ending, Implied Sexual Content, Jealous Benny, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Mention of Ben - Freeform, Past Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester, Restaurant Owner Benny, Vegan Benny, Vegetarians & Vegans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 03:19:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7558150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean eyebrows wiggle like worms on a hook before diving in. And boy, he makes a show out of it. Benny watches, all but gripping the counter as the smooth round back of the fork drags across Dean's tongue at the pace of a mailman during a Texas summer. Then his mouth wraps around the utensil, drawing every last crumb from its silver tines until he pulls out—pulls the fork out, the fork—</p><p>"Oh man,” he moans, “that's amazing."</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Impressions

 

First impressions aren’t always accurate.

Look at Benny Lafitte, for example. Benny is a five foot eleven Caucasian from Carencro with a neck as wide as a pornstar’s thigh, but not as smooth. Not even his eyes, blue like an unwrapped stick of _Winterfresh_ gum left on the dashboard during a heat wave, could sway people’s assumptions of him. Benny’s always going to be taken _too_ seriously, never getting the chance to really connect with people beyond a simple hello for something as simple and shallow as physical appearance.

In truth, Benny’s not a violent person. Nor does he practice southern values. He donates blood at the local children’s hospital every few months, actively attends charity benefits for homeless LGBTQA+, and runs a vegan market beneath his one-bedroom apartment. His niece, Elizabeth, who he adopted from the fallout with his twin brother Roy, works alongside him. He’s practically watched her grow up from this shy preteen with pigtails to this twenty-year-old woman with a passion for planting smiles on people’s faces.

However, despite all of that, Benny’s always going to be the Lenny of Lawrence, Kansas. Then again, he kind of likes living under the radar. Before he became his own employer, Benny was a sailor for the US Navy, and that meant quite literally always being on someone’s radar.

People can keep their suspicions. Benny’s life is where he wants it.

So, naturally, all it takes is one stranger to fuck it all up.

“I’ll take the largest vegan sandwich you have.”

Benny’s mouth hangs open longer than necessary. From his caramel brown tent of hair, to the denim-clad bowlegs he uses to saunter up to the counter, the guy’s gorgeous _._ And that deep voice. “Uhhh….”

“I know,” Bowlegs says, green eyes shining as he holds up his hand. They’re calloused. And dirty—no, greasy. “What’s a guy like me doing in a place like this? The smell of patchouli and depression from meat deprivation doesn’t sit well with me. I don’t know how you do it, I’m a warrior; I can’t live on rabbit food. No offense.”

“Actually, patchouli has an earthy smell. It’s actually quite soothing. It’s ‘specially effective in treating all types’a skin problems… not that _you_ have any, clearly. I was just…” _Rambling, Benny, you’re just_ rambling _—_

Bowlegs’ fatty pink lips blossom into a smile, exposing a flurry of white teeth. “I stand corrected,” he laughs, nodding his head. “Dean.”

“Benny,” the shop owner replies. He forces a small smile, but the blush on his face doesn’t give him as much flexibility as he needs. And he would need flexibility, with _those_ legs… “One sandwich for the gentleman up front, Liz,” he says amid clearing his throat. “Would you like ranch on that?”

“Sure,” Dean replies easy, leaning forward to rest one arm—one big, _bulging_ arm—on the counter, “as long as I get to see your Hidden Valley later.”

Benny gulps as he turns to Liz. She tips her head to the side, drinking in the _Playgirl_ handsome male patron before whipping out the bread. Liz, a twenty-year-old waitress in today’s society, and under Benny’s payroll, slides the remark off easier than an omelet on a skillet with a friendly smile. “Comin’ right up.”

“So,” Benny, still flushed to the bone, starts, “what brings ya here?”

“Excuse me?”

“You, uh, you said ‘a guy like me’. So what brings ya to a vegan market?”

Dean shifts, rubbing his neck. “Oh. Yeah, I, um, lost a bet to my little brother. He said he would get to asking this girl Bela from the shop, Singer’s Salvage, where I work, before me. I don’t like her that much. Actually, I hate her, come to think of it, but Sammy’s been crushing on her for a few months, so I let him win.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty stupid.”

“That’s nice’a you, though,” Benny adds.

Dean shakes his head with a sideways smile, causing the ginger hairs around his mouth to bunch together. “Not really. He’ll see when he wakes up and his wallet’s missing.”

Benny laughs lightly before whipping his head back, almost _certain_ drizzling ranch onto the inside of Orowheat bread has never been such a task. “You should try the pie,” he blurts. Dean chuckles.

“You guys eat pie?”

“‘Course we eat pie,” Benny scoffs nervously, “we’re not monsters _.”_

Dean throws his head back with a wary smile before saying, “Alright, why not?”

“I do have to warn you, though…” Benny’s eyes wander to the display to Dean’s left. Dean frowns.

“You’re out of pecan. Story of my life. No problem, I’ll—thank you, sweetheart _,”_ he cuts off with a wink as Liz hands him the bag with his sandwich. He turns back to Benny. “I’ll hold you to a slice of apple, though.”

Before Benny can respond, Dean’s payment is on the counter and he’s out the door with a jingle.

“Really,” Benny says to Liz, “with the ranch?”

“We were near the end of the bottle!”

Benny goes to the opposite counter and flips the bottle. When a rush of cold white paste flops to the top, he turns to his niece with a hard glare. “From now on, _I’m_ makin’ the sandwiches ‘round ‘ere.”

***

Benny's argument about the ranch is intact when Dean returns for his slice of pie.

As promised, Benny slides out the flaky dessert from the display and carves the gooey brown inside from the center, creating a second hand marking twelve o'clock as he slips it onto a plate with a newly washed fork.

Dean eyebrows wiggle like worms on a hook before diving in. And boy, he makes a show out of it. Benny watches, all but gripping the counter as the smooth round back of the fork drags across Dean's tongue at the pace of a mailman during a Texas summer. Then his mouth wraps around the utensil, drawing every last crumb from its silver tines until he pulls out—pulls the _fork_ out, the fork—

"Oh man,” he moans, “that's amazing."

Benny releases his death gnash on his mandible long enough to reply, "T-thanks. So, the sandwich. Did it live up'ta your flannel-wearin', flesh-eating standards? Give me a Rotten rating."

"Honestly?" Dean says, nodding timidly with his head down like a child in timeout. "Hate to say it, but a solid seventy percent."

"What happen’ta the other thirty?"

"Could've had more ranch."

Unable to fight the twitch tugging his lip up, Benny laughs, “I can do that.”

***

Benny makes sure the display is stacked with pie every week. Dean always pops in Wednesdays and Fridays after work and leaves Benny a tip the shop owner insists is way too much. Dean, Benny’s come to learn through his regular visits, is also a charitable man. Aside from sorting through scrap metal, Dean roleplays Disney characters for terminally ill children (his favorite is Gaston). He moved back into town after his adoptive son, Ben, who was diagnosed with medulloblastoma when he was seven, passed in his sleep.

Dean tells Benny during his break over an extra hot cup of coffee his regrets. He regrets royally screwing up fatherhood for the only three years he had, regrets not fighting harder for his relationship with Lisa, his ex-fiancée, regrets not sending all the birthday cards with chicken scratch hearts.

Dean tells Benny about Cas, his best friend since high school, and his roommate until Dean gets his own place again, who keeps him distracted by complaining when Dean leaves his toothbrush out or forgets the trash.

He keeps him human, he says. Next to his brother, who offered Dean his studio when he goes back to college, but Dean declined. Sam, or Sammy, depending on the tone of the conversation, is enrolled in Stanford Law. He even has an interview with Ferguson Law Firm next week. He raves “non-stop” about a girl, Eileen, from his Administrative Law class, who got in touch with him over break. Dean shows Benny a picture on his phone. She’s very pretty. Dean agrees, and thinks she might be the one that’ll put him in his place.

“So Bela’s outta the picture, I take it?”

Dean reclines almost all the way back in his chair with a crooked smile. “Oh yeah. Do you know she got caught skimming from a register at her second job? No wonder she preyed on Sam, the money-hungry bitch.” Benny tells Dean about Roy, how he hit up local restaurants for cash to pay off some loan sharks, including the very shop they’re sitting in. “ _Seriously?_  What’s he thinking he was gonna steal from you, some marjoram?”

Benny laughs, “For someone pro-animal cruelty, ya sure know a lot about veganism.”

“It’s my brother’s thing,” Dean supplies, sipping his coffee before adding: “And the way I look at it, we’re all animals, and we’re all being treated cruelly. That’s the closest to equality we’ll come to in America.”

They talk until the alarm on Dean’s phone—“Back in Black”, respectively—chimes. “Work already?”

Dean nods. “Bobby’s bringing in a ’64 Corvette. If I get there early, I get dibs on the parts.”

“And why do ya need parts from a ’64 Corvette?”

“Authenticity, Benny,” he prides, standing up to shrug on his coat, “authenticity. Thanks for the coffee.”

Benny rolls his eyes as he watches Dean’s perky ass leave the shop. “Adios.”

“Wow,” Liz says, coming up behind him. She tosses a used dishrag over his shoulder. “You’re _so_ screwed.”

***

Benny has Dean’s coffee and pie ready for him on Table 2 the following Wednesday.

The place is slow, with only the occasional customer walking in for a morning brew and some guy named Martin something-or-other who keeps staring creepily from the table closest to the window. He’s old and wrinkled and long in the face, but has a steady grip on his coffee.

Benny’s wiping the counter when Dean finally walks in. He’s later than usual. Though, judging by the frayed tips of his fawn hair and the grease slathered on his blue jumpsuit that wraps around him in all the right places like a koala bar on a eucalyptus tree, it’s not by choice.

He approaches the counter with a determined expression. Only, when he speaks, that determination isn’t directed towards Benny. “Hey, Liz, can I talk to you for a sec?”

Benny turns to a confused, but nonetheless intrigued Liz. She stops making a fresh batch of coffee to face Dean, and then turns to Benny. “It’s alright, suga,” he reassures, though can’t help but feel jealousy pinch him like the tag on a new shirt, “you go on ahead. I’ll take care of it.”

Dean leads them over to his and Benny’s usual table. Benny pretends to fiddle with things behind the counter; he even tries to strike up a conversation with Martin, which only gets him a bruised eardrum from the rough slide of his fork onto his plate as he finishes the last of his cherry pie. It’s especially driving him mad because this isn’t like Dean—the one he’s come to know over the past couple months, anyway. There’s also the uncharacteristic laughter coming from Liz, and the shy smiles from Dean, and that about does it for Benny as he slams the tub of freshly washed silverware onto the counter.

“No, thank _you,”_ he hears Dean gush before Liz is up and moving again.

Benny side eyes his niece, even though he knows she won’t spill. Obstinacy runs in the Lafitte’s thicker than their own blood. Then he turns to Dean, who’s sitting in his usual spot, leaning back in his chair with a toothy smile before he’s out the door again with a curt thank you to Benny, that son of a bitch.

Benny goes to the library after work to check out _Of Mice and Men._

***

Friday rolls around faster than he expects—and also brings some interesting company.

In walks Dean, only instead of his usual grungy wear, he’s in a sailor’s uniform. Yes, a sailor’s uniform, complete with a white hat, black scrubs, and a red collar. That leaves his neck and the long, tanned lines of his arms exposed, just begging to be written up for violation of dress code. He even has the anchor tattoos.

“Uhm,” Benny laughs, mostly to dispel the blush spreading to his cheeks as he crosses his arms, “hey, Popeye. To what do I owe this pleasu’a?”

Dean chews on his lip, turning to Liz behind the counter for courage. “Benny Lafitte,” he says, “‘I yam what I yam’, but will you go on a date with me anyway? I’ll even eat spinach.”

Benny bites back a laugh. He nods his head furiously before swinging around the counter, grabbing Dean’s face, and pulling him into a long, tongue-chasing, cat-and-mouse kiss.

On Monday morning, Elizabeth Lafitte and Bobby Singer receive the same calling-in-sick voice message.

 

 


End file.
